I did it for you and I’ll do it again
by WOKgeotobi
Summary: Spain comes home to Romano after fighting at war, but he's not his usual nice and caring self, somethings changed. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Uh, human and nation names used. Please don't kill me! Rated T for violence.**

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I did it for you and I'll do it again

"Antonio. Hurry up, we haven't got all day." Gilbert sat looking bored on a rock. Francis stood next to him with his arms crossed and both glared at him. The sky was nearing twilight and set an eerie glow on the surroundings. If Antonio was back home he might have found this beautiful, even romantic. But there was nothing romantic about here. Not the battle field. With dead bodies lying scattered as far as the eye could see, bloodied limbs and emotionless faces staring at him. Accusing him. Well, in Antonio's mind they were.

"_un dieu, _you are so slow." Francis sighed.

"I can't do it. Please, can't we just..."

"NO! You're useless, you know that. Good for nothing waste of space! If you can't even do this then why are you even in this war!?" Antonio's mind flashed to Romano, "Now do it!"Prussia just didn't understand.

Holland lay on the floor sobbing, blood smeared most of his face and clothes. His skin was bruised and beaten and a large gash throbbed violently on his forehead, gushing even more blood into his eyes. Oh god, those _eyes._ If he just stopped looking at him with those eyes, hurt, pained, pleading. Maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do it.

"Antonio, it's not hard. You see that axe you're holding. Yes Antonio, the axe. You take it in your hands, lift it up above your head, and then pull it down very hard."

"I can't. What did Holland do to disserve this? Just because he sided with Austria?"

"Gilbert, this isn't going to work. He's so weak. Just do it you're self."

"No. HE will do it." Gilbert and Francis argued with each other but Antonio wasn't really listening. Instead he was looking at Holland, who seemed to be trying to mouth something. What was that? He mouthed again. Please. He was trying to say please. A pang of guilt swept over him.

He didn't know Holland very well; he didn't even know his real name. There were a few occasions they had met. He seemed nice from what he could tell, if not a little bit under confident and shy of strangers.

"He needs to learn how to fight, Francis."

"Yes I know, but he obviously isn't going to do it and we need to move."

"Hey, Spain." Prussia called out, drawing his attention. "What are you going to do after the war?"

"What?" Antonio was confused at the casualness of the question.

"Don't be shy, tell us."

"Well... I will go back home to look after Lovino."

"Romano? Won't he be awfully sad?"

"Sad? I don't understand."

"Well, you went to war and all you brought back was nothing. From what I last remember you and him were broke."

"We get by."

"Well, not really. Imagine if we win! Every battle that's won, every country defeated, means _Money._ Imagine how happy he will be, as must food as he likes. Luxuries that even _I _can't imagine. Aren't you supposed to care about him?"

"I do care about him!"

"Obviously not!"

"I...I..." Antonio hesitated. He looked at Holland's face, stricken with fear, and then imagined Romano's. Lovino's beautiful face, joyful and happy. Instead of when he last saw him, Hungry and miserable and dirty.

He could do this. For Romano, he would do anything. He didn't even know Holland, what did it matter? Maybe it could make Romano like him, not just swear at him and abuse him. It was easy, just as Prussia said. Lift up the axe, then bring it back down. A smile twitched at the sides of his lips. Holland noticed this and his eyes grew wide as Spain lifted the axe above his head.

"For Romano." Spain whispered to himself as he brought the axe down into Holland's side. Holland screamed as it sliced into him, blood splattered over Spain's face from the impact. The axe was still inside him so Antonio went to pull it out, only to find it stuck. He wrenched upward, hard. changing the angle, so that it ripped Holland's flesh open to produce a gapping hole. Once again the axe was raised above his head and crashed down, but this time it landed squarely into his chest. Holland let out one last gurgle before he fell unconscious.

"For Romano."

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**To tell you the truth I just wanted to write gore :D Next chapter will be soon! Holland is completely out of character, I'm so gay. There are only 2 sentences about him that I had to follow and he ended up the complete opposite. And Gilbert is such a bully :D but that's why we love him.**

**Anyway, review or Holland will die! **

**I will kill him. And it will be your fault. All. Your. Fault. **


	2. Chapter 2

**There may be some typos in the chapter as it's slightly longer. Btw, the time period set is kind of 1400's- 1800's ish. I'm being very non-specific. This story wasn't created for historical accuracy, just the angst :D **

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"Can we _please_ move now? Before Luxemburg or Austria comes along." Francis complained. Antonio stayed silent, staring at Holland's sliced body.

"Is he dead?" Gilbert asked, sounding hopeful.

"No. He just passed out with the pain. But he probably will die soon if no one comes to help him."

"Good. Let's move then!" Gilbert laughed and took Francis and Antonio's hands in his and practically skipped away from Holland.

From that point on Antonio got to know Gilbert and Francis's personalities much better. Well, on the battle field anyway. France, although not that strong, seemed to be very good at the sneak attacks. He saw war as a job that had to be done. He gained no enjoyment from it but did not seem to care how many people got hurt or killed in the process. Overall he found it rather boring and often made comments about how he wished everyone would just die so he could go back home. Gilbert was quite the opposite and took full enjoyment in killing people. He would laugh when parents were slaughtered in front of their children and in the battle field would go all out offensive and kill as many people as possible.

At first Spain had disagreed with both of them and ignored them both with disgust. He often tried to help the people in the villages that they had destroyed. But soon France stated to pick up on it and he had to stop. They went through village after village, nation after nation. He remembered the first nations they attacked. Holland, of course. Belgium. This partially shocked Antonio as Francis didn't even seem to care about attacking his own cousin. He attacked her by hitting her head from behind with a spear. Then there was Hungary. Prussia got into a one on one sword fight with her but France was hidden behind her and grabbed her, holding her down so Prussia could pour gasoline on her. Antonio gave Prussia the lit match and they left her screaming on fire. He vaguely remembered the expression of pain on her face, but chose to forget it.

"You know it would have been great if that bitch died. It's a shame Austria heard us and saved her." Prussia was very good at making comments like that.

Antonio had noticed that the nations they attacked didn't actually die, just got seriously injured. Maybe it was meant to be like that? Maybe it was just coincidence? Either way, Antonio learned not to care. Everyone they attacked soon just merged into one empty face. Whoever it was, it didn't matter. As long as Romano would be happy.

One day all three of them were sitting around a camp fire, making some stew. Prussia was ranting as always. France and Spain never said anything. That was the way it was every night. Even if either of them wanted to talk, which they didn't, Gilbert would interrupt them. Today he was talking about his plans for the next attack.

"So I was thinking, since we've mostly attacked most of central and eastern Europe we should start on western Europe." West Europe. Where was that again? Did it matter?

"But we're from west Europe." France said, which threw Gilbert off his track of speech.

"So?"

"If Spain or I attack people within western Europe then we will be noticed and probably attacked.."

"I attacked people is east Europe like me? Why can't you do the same?"

"But they're weak. Germany and England are powerful people."

"We won't be attacking them, dumbass. I was think of attacking Portugal."

"Oh, okay then." Portugal. Antonio was fairly sure that name meant something to him.

"Great! Oh, by the way. I got some more loot from that village in Romania we burnt down." This cheered Spain up, as it meant more money for Romano. He picked up his share from Prussia and added it to the ever growing pile of gold he kept in his tent.

And so over the next week they strode their way over to Portugal's house. It was only when they arrived that Spain felt a strange sense of familiarity. This house, he knew it. Not just in passing, but knew every bit of the house, from the bad paintjob round the back and the colourful red door hinges. He used to live here, with Portugal. His brother. Wait? Portugal. They were here to attack Portugal, weren't they? Oh well. What did it matter?

France knocked politely at the door, while Prussia hid behind as bush with his sword ready to strike. Spain fingered his dagger awkwardly.

"Who's there?" Someone called within. Francis nudged for Spain to speak.

"Um... It's me. Antonio."

"Antonio? Oh, Antonio!" Portugal opened the door and flung his arms around him, "I've missed you so much! Why haven't you come to visit?" Come in and I'll..." that was when Spain stabbed him in the stomach. It took several seconds for Portugal to realise what was going on and he took a few steps back, looking at the dagger wedged inside him. Slowly, he looked back up at Antonio's emotionless face with a pure look of horror.

"Anti? Wha... why? Why did you..." Blood started to ooze out and spill onto his light brown uniform. Suddenly Gilbert jumped out and struck him in the back with the sharp side of his blade. He screamed and fell forward, landing with a sickening thud, face first, at Spain's feet. His arms twitched as he tried to get up but Spain trod on his head to stop him. Portugal's face slammed into the pavement and his nose snapped. Spain couldn't stand to have him look at him. He had had too many accusing and pleading stares. He kept his foot on his head to stop him looking up.

"Please, don't hurt me." Portugal managed to say with a mouthful of blood.

"Too late~" Prussia sang as he kicked him in the side several times. Antonio could hear him sobbing in between his cry's of pain.

"Stop! Please!"

"France! Hurry up." France had a large club in his hands.

"Okay, fine. Stop complaining." France raised the club above his head and before Antonio could blink he had already slammed it into Portugal's skull. Now he was silent. He wasn't even twitching slightly like the others had. That was when Gilbert made the mistake of turning him over. His blank, cold eyes, still open, stared strait at Antonio. His eyes were the same colour as Romano's. Brown. That rich chocolate brown that made his heart ache. Prussia nudged him with his foot.

"I think he's dead."

"Good, let's go." Gilbert and Francis started walking away when they realised Antonio wasn't following.

"Come on Spain, we need to go." Spain still didn't move, he just stared into Portugal's empty eyes.

"ANTONIO! MOVE IT!" Slowly, he turned around, tearing his eyes away from his brother. Every step he took felt like a thousand, but he didn't look back. He will never look back. Only forward, to when he will see Romano again.

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**Still no Romano yet, and a slightly longer chapter! Usually I post my stories in the evening. As I'm English that means if I post this at 9pm then in America it's about 3pm when everyone is just getting out of school and I get more hits. But I have lost the will to wait! STFU WORLD!**


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